


Lighthouse

by sabrina



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Wilco
Genre: Gen, Mild Buffy/Angel, Some mild Buffy/Spike as well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2002-12-01
Updated: 2002-12-01
Packaged: 2018-10-07 02:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10350024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrina/pseuds/sabrina
Summary: Set during season 2, sometime after 'Reptile Boy'.Buffy and the scoobies meet the band and must save a member from being taken by a gang of fanged fans.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This work is over a decade old, but I'm trying to get everything in one place so here we are. This was a collaboration of _my_ obsession with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and my best friend's obsession with the band Wilco. She doesn't have an Ao3 account, but should be noted as a co-author. 
> 
> So this is a weird crossover between Buffy, and real person fic, which I don't usually write, but I still - all these years later - do really like this work, and the way all the pieces went together and how it feels like a Buffy episode to me. It is however, most definitely a Buffy fic, with Wilco showing up as themselves, as bands and singers often did at the Bronze. You don't need to be familiar with Wilco to enjoy the fic.

>   
>  **_How to fight loneliness_  
>  **
> 
> Smile all the time  
>  Shine your teeth till meaningless  
>  Sharpen them with lies  
>  -‘How to Fight Loneliness’

  
  
The grass had that late evening crispiness: the caught in the netherworld effect that comes with the dew and a full moon. The scene would have perhaps appeared magical to those who generally did not venture out late in the evening, but its bewitching charm had worn off for Buffy Summers. She strode through the cemetery, dissuading the night chill with a black leather jacket over a casual v-neck tee and mini-skirt combination, a decidedly grumpy aura surrounding her.  
  
'Another Saturday night bites the dust,' she grumbled aloud. 'If only the creatures of the night would bite dust instead of humans, maybe I'd be able to have a little fun, for once.'  
  
Her plans to go to the Bronze with Willow and Xander to see the band Wilco had fallen through with a decidedly loud thud when Giles had interrupted her study break with his usual note of caution, 'You mustn’t forget your duty, Buffy. Your work comes before play.'  
  
'As if I could forget,' Buffy muttered, 'I'm only reminded every day. You are the chosen one. The one who must slay the vampires and scourge the world of all evil. Once, just once, I'd like to hear Giles say, 'Buffy why don't you take the night off and go to the mall'!'  
  
She paused beside the north wall and gave the graveyard a once over. Maybe she would take another round and go to the Bronze anyway. Vampires frequented the Bronze, with its dark corners and hordes of young fresh blood, nearly as much as they frequented the cemetery. She could perform her sacred duty and catch the last half of the concert. She swung around, following the maintenance road for a while before slipping between a couple of mausoleums and heading out across the center of the cemetery. About half way across the grounds, she noticed a tiny sparkling light, almost as if a star had lost track of its home and decided to take up residence between two headstones. Buffy paused a moment, did a quick visual sweep, and then headed straight towards the lost star.  
  
She could see that that star was really a flame bouncing up and down inside a glass lantern. Halting, she looked around again, her senses alert. This was the sort of thing that would be a trap for a slayer, and she was not about to be stupid enough to fall victim to some vampire's idea of Saturday night entertainment. Seeing nothing, she stepped up to the grave. Beside the headstone was a wire holder that held a small lantern, no larger than her smallest jar of holy water, lit by a candle.  
  
'Somebody couldn't bear to go to sleep without their nightlight?' She questioned aloud.  
  
The flame flickered in response. Buffy looked around again. Seeing nothing, she stepped in front of the gravestone and peered at the inscription. Nothing stuck out as particularly unusual about the names on the headstone, so she turned and headed back towards the cemetery gates. She'd tell Giles about it tomorrow. Tonight she was going to party at the Bronze.  
  


* * *

  
  
The sound of a page turning broke the utter silence of the Sunnydale High library. The loan occupant of the high school picked up his cuppa, took a sip of lukewarm coffee, and made a face.  
  
'I suppose I've been sitting here longer than I thought,' Giles murmured, tipping back in his chair so he could see through the window to the clock on the wall. After noting the time, he turned back to the leather bound book and continued making notes on a scrap of paper.  
  


>   
>  _The full moon nearest All Saint's Day designates the festival of Leollyas, an ancient order of vampyrs that reached its peak near the late tenth and early eleventh centuries Anno Domini._  
>    
>  Among the prophecies revered by this order was that of a pure human being who would kill a slayer.  
>    
>  The order fell out of favour toward the end of the late eleventh century. However, the teachings of Leollyas remained and certain vampyrs continued to study and revere the prophecies.  
>    
>  According to Leonardo Battiste Giollinni, a watcher of the early fifteenth century, his slayer was killed in 1456, by what appeared at first glance to be a vampyr. On closer examination, the killer was discovered to be a pure human, one of the order of Benedict. Upon being questioned, Gianno Michelangaleno, the Benedictine monk who had murdered the slayer, claimed that he had no memory of the actual murder. Various memory spells and incantations were performed by the Watcher’s Councils in Venice, Versailles, and Lincolnshire, all to no avail. Gianno was released to a hidden location in southern France where he lived, guarded by certain French members of the Watcher's Council, for the rest of his known life.  
>    
>  Since then, the legend has laid buried and forgotten in old texts, with rare mentions in the Watchers' diaries, until the discovery of one of Leollyas’s ancient manuscripts towards the later part of the nineteenth century by William Nicholas Benton III.  
>    
>  A partial manuscript, this writing contains directions for the ritual of Leollyas: an apocalyptic ceremony that requires the blood of Gianno. As the manuscript is only partial, it may be assumed that it is not the blood of Gianno but rather of one of his offspring that is required for the fulfilment of the prophecy, and that the ritual itself may take place only if a full manuscript is found. In the event of the ritual occurring, it must take place on the night of the full moon that falls directly before All Saint's Day, three years before the turning of the next century.

  
  
'Oh dear,' Giles raised his head and looked at the clock again. 'That's tonight.' He stood and grabbed the tweed blazer from the back of his chair. 'I'd best find Buffy.' 


	2. Act 1

> **_I dreamed about killing you last night  
>  And it felt alright to me..._  
>  -‘Via Chicago’ **

Saturday night at the Bronze.

The club had already begun to fill with teenagers and the band's plethora of instruments, including a row of guitars lined up like dominoes, an organ, a keyboard, drums, and enough amps to blow the roof off a skyscraper, were onstage, ready to begin performance. The floor was swarming with the typical high school and undergraduate crowd. Those who weren’t out on the dance floor or scanning the crowd for a significant other, were sitting at tall tables with huge foam-topped mugs of cappuccino. 

Back stage, the slated band was lounging on an over-stuffed couch covered with a floral velour fabric that looked as if it might have been left over from the seventies. _Unfortunately_ , thought Jeff Tweedy, frontman of the band Wilco, _it also smells as if might be left over from the seventies_.

He was feeling ridiculously sensitive to smells this evening, and the smell of the seventies was enough to make his stomach, which was full of Diet Coke and part of John’s peanut butter and honey sandwich, seriously consider rejecting its half-digested contents at any given moment. He found himself sort of just breathing through his mouth in a last-ditch effort to disarm his overly sensitive smeller. He was attempting to calm his nerves by strumming his favorite old acoustic guitar. Relax. Relax. Something felt very wrong tonight.

He was strumming the same A minor chord, over and over. The smell of the seventies continued to linger in his nostrils. His hands shook, and his stomach began to threaten him in a most dangerous manner. He closed his eyes.

Something felt _very_ wrong tonight.

Suddenly, the A-minor chord, which had been droning on for the last 15 minutes, reached a twangy climax, as his guitar landed on the floor with an offended clatter. He frantically grabbed Jay Bennett’s ratty old denim jacket, which was draped over the back of the couch, and plunged his nose into it, loudly inhaling the unique aroma of well… Jay Bennett’s dirty denim. Anything was better than the stale, oily, dusty, sleazy smell of the seventies.

Jay Bennett, multi-instrumentalist extraordinaire, adjusted his black-rimmed glasses, which always seemed to be slanting to the left, and placed a comforting hand on Jeff’s shoulder. He rolled his eyes. This was going to be a _long_ night. Jay half-heartedly rubbed the back of Jeff’s neck with one hand, and raggedly ran his other hand through his own frazzled dirty-blonde dreadlocks.

‘Hey Ken!’ Jay said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Ken! _Hey, Ken_!’

Ken Coomer was sitting on the floor, smiling like he was five years old and making mud pies in his back yard, despite the fact that he was a hefty-sized guy, sporting a scraggly goatee and a pink button-up shirt. He twirled a drumstick in each hand and was singing to himself. 

‘Life as a drummer…’ Jay muttered, ‘It must be so easy.’

Jeff doubled over and covered his head with Jay’s jacket.

‘ _Hey! Ken!_ ’ Jay screamed, his glasses falling off his nose for emphasis, ‘ _Get off your lazy stool-sitting dumb drummer’s ass and bring me the trashcan_!!’

Ken looked up, smiled some more, and sauntered over to the trashcan like it was a hot Puerto Rican girl and he was Mick Jagger.

‘Ken! Hurry up!’ Jay said as he removed the jacket from Jeff’s head and helped him sit up.

‘Oh… oh… it’s alright guys…’ Jeff mumbled, looking pale, with his short black hair sticking up and out in every possible direction, ‘I’ll just throw up in my shirt…’

Jay sighed heavily as Ken finally handed him the little black trash can. ‘Oh no, you don’t. Come on, Jeff,’ he put the trash can on Jeff’s lap. ‘Just get it over with. If you don’t puke your guts out in this trash can right now, I’ll throw up on you myself.’

Jay took a swig of Corona. Approximately three week ago, Jeff had thrown up on a pair of Jay’s favorite filthy old jeans, and Jay was never going to forgive him for it.

‘Jeff,’ he muttered bitterly, ‘I’d gone two years without washing those jeans… _two years…_ and then you had to ruin every thing. Now they’re just not the same. So watch the jacket, man. I haven’t had to wash that baby, hell, in like five years.’

‘Hey guys. We’re on in ten,’ said John Stirratt, the fourth and final member of Wilco, who was already wearing his bass as he stood near the side of the stage, just out of view of the audience. He studied the excited young audience and grinned. ‘Wow,’ he said, tapping his bass happily, ‘it’s going to be crazy tonight.’

John walked quickly over to the couch. ‘Jeff, you’ll never believe this, but there are some crazy girls in the front row. I swear they’re salivating like it was the eighties and we were Def Leppard.’

John brushed his wavy blond hair out of his face, and shook his head at the unfortunate mental image of the band trading their denim and t-shirts for spandex, “I’ve never seen anything like it. Jeff, don’t smile. Don’t even _look at them_ , unless you want them to jump the stage—”

“Ah, come on!” Ken threw his drumstick in the air and caught it, “If you don’t smile at them, Jeff, I will! I’m really feeling up for some crowd surfing tonight; I don’t know about you guys.”

That did it. Jeff hunched over, and retched long and hard. Within seconds, his stomach’s former contents resided in the bottom of the trash can, along with cigarette butts, two of Jay’s empty beer bottles, and some old concert fliers. Jeff placed the unfortunate trash can on the floor, leaned back into the old couch, and closed his eyes. The right side of his upper lip curled just a little bit—his familiar hint of a self-deprecating smile had returned. Once again, the show would go on.

“Well...” Jeff said, “Maybe I should get some leather pants... and a perm...”

* * *

'No, I totally know the band. Like, the drummer and I go way back. We grew up in high school together.'

A woman's voice floated back stage followed by the low protesting of the bouncer. 'I'm sorry, miss, but nobody is allowed back stage before performances.'

'Strict much! I won't be but a minute. I'll be back before you can say 'Sunnydale Hellmouth!'

While the bouncer was busy thinking ‘What the hell is Sunnydale Hellmouth?' the girl slipped past him and was soon leaning casually on the back of the smelly couch. Ken was the first to notice her, as Jeff was now humming to himself in between sips of a Diet Coke, Jay was pacing in the back over by the stage door, and John was looking out at the audience again, chuckling.

“Hey!” Ken said to her, with a toothy smile and a friendly twirl of his drumstick, “We were just talking about _leather_!”

Indeed, Cordelia Chase was certainly wearing leather—leather pants that fit _tighter_ than a second skin, along with a billowy, bosomy low-cut orange shirt. She tossed her silky dark hair over her shoulder and grinned at the band. 'Awesome, I am so delighted to see all of you! I’ve been counting the days until all of you were here because I've listened to your CD like THREE times all the way through. And it's just so completely cool that you're here. In person!'

She flopped down on the sofa beside Jeff. 'Is that a real guitar?'

Jeff, having been reminded that his favorite acoustic was lying unceremoniously on the floor, grabbed it and hunched over it protectively, spilling his Diet Coke in the process.

'Wait, don't tell me,' she continued, 'It's just so much better if you keep an aura of mysteriousness, don't you think? I'm Cordelia, by the way. Cordelia Chase of Chase, Murphy, and McGonnall law firm. That's my Dad's business. I don't actually work there myself.'

'Well,’ Ken attempted, plopping down next to her and causing the old couch springs to ‘SPROING!’ loudly, ‘It’s great that you came out to see us. It looks like it’s going to be a lot of fun tonight. We’ve never played here before, and—’

Cordelia cut him off with another toss of her hair. 'I know, isn't it so fabulous of me to come out here? It's not as if there was anything else to do tonight. Sunnydale, small town, yada yada. I really just dream of LA. I'm sure all of you have played there, right?'

'LA, yeah, that's a really fun place,' John said as he ambled over to the couch, having noticed that there was suddenly one extra member of Wilco. And that extra member was wearing _leather_.

'Oh, I can imagine,’ said Cordelia with a sigh, ‘I mean, just a few moments away from all those designer dresses and shoes... Shoes are my thing.'

'Shoes! Yeah, me too,' John said, wiggling his faded, red converse sneaker, and noticing the white sock poking through the toe.

'What about you?' Cordelia turned to Jeff, who was calmly staring off into oblivion. 'Don't you just love LA?'

Jeff’s face was blank. He shifted on the cushions, hoping to detour a broken spring that was poking his butt.

'This couch bothers you too?” Cordelia continued, her hand resting casually on his leg, “It really does just stink. I kind of wonder if this cushion I'm sitting on isn't going to put some sort of grease stain on my leather. Your cushion looks cleaner actually,' and she scooted over right against him, practically in his lap. 'Honestly, you would think, as much money as we pay to get into this place that they could manage to replace the couch in the band's waiting room. You should sue.' She nodded with all seriousness.

'I need a Diet Coke.' Jeff stood up suddenly, putting his acoustic guitar in the now vacant spot next to Cordelia’s tight leather ass. 'How long before we go on?'

John stood gazing at the scene with amusement. He glanced at the plastic watch he’d picked up at Taco Bell for $1.99. 'About five minutes.’

Jeff began to turn, with the intention of casually shuffling off toward Jay, who was still pacing in the back, when Cordelia grabbed his arm. 

'Oh, well here's a Diet!' she said, pulling one off of the six-pack that was sitting on the floor by the couch. She popped the tab and handed it to him.

'Ah. Uh. Thanks.' Jeff took it and stood there, with her hand still on his arm.

'I am totally a Diet girl myself. I mean, honestly, why would you want to put all that sugar in your body? Did you know that sugar totally slows down your metabolism-"

‘Sugar is _good for you_!’ said Ken, giggling like a girl, “It’s all that damn Diet Coke that’s giving you those headaches, Jeff. My boy, if you just got a little old fashioned sugar into your blood stream--- _like me_!’

Jeff couldn’t look. Ken was now standing up, and _bouncing_ on the couch.

‘Hey Ken!’ Jay bellowed from the back, ‘Why do you always have to act so stupid at the sight of leather pants?’

Jeff could hear the wood frame of the couch creaking. It would collapse any minute.

‘Nutrasweet...’ John began, slapping an imaginary bass line.

‘...causes cancer!’ Ken finished, taking a karate-style leap off the couch. ‘You want to die an early death?’

Ken retrieved his drumsticks, which had rolled under the couch, and took Cordelia by the hand. ‘Cordelia, it’s been a pleasure!’

He then began to casually lead her back to the door so that she could take her place on the front row with all the other hair tossing, leather-wearing flirts. ‘We’re going onstage in a minute, so...’

Cordelia broke away from his friendly grip, giggling and bouncing up and down. 'Oh, I would love to watch the concert from back here. That is so sweet of you guys to offer. I just knew that this was going to be the best concert!'

Jeff stood gazing at his can of Diet Coke, which he was swirling in a circular motion, causing a steady fizzing sound, when Cordelia flounced over to him and gave him a quick hug. Suddenly, she was _on stage_ , her face beaming.

‘Is this alright? Is this an OK place for me to stand and watch? I would _love_ to cheer you guys _on_!’ she yelled back to the band. ‘Oh this will be so much fun!’

She had assumed a prime position, right behind Jeff’s Marshall amp. She was leaning over the innocent amp so that her arms _and_ cleavage rested right on top of it. She waved to the audience.

Jeff’s breathing was becoming laboured and the fizzing of the swirling Diet Coke had increased to a dull roar. 'I need air.'

Jeff stumbled toward the stage door, and grabbed his winter coat from the coat rack, even though he was in California and it couldn’t have been much less than 60 degrees outside. He threw himself into his coat. 'I'll be back...'

'Ok. Don't be long.' Jay said, looking back at Jeff, and adjusting his glasses. He had stopped pacing and was heading towards the stage. 'We're on in three.'

Jeff heaved his full body weight against the heavy stage door, which scraped loudly across the concrete as it opened up into the alleyway. He stepped onto the moonlit street and leaned against the brick wall, the stage door slowly grinding its way shut.

Something felt very wrong tonight. Relax. Relax. He stopped swirling his Diet Coke and took a long reassuring swig. He savored the familiar aspartame aftertaste, feeling the comfortable tingle of carbonation flow all the way down his esophagus.

He’d only been on tour for one month and nineteen days, exactly, but he looked and felt like someone who had been locked up for a few _years_ in the tiny nasty bathroom in the back of the tour bus and left to die. The whole _Summerteeth_ Tour, so far, had been really weird, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. He’d felt really strange, the whole tour, like _something_ was going to happen, and he didn’t know what. He’d been having panic attacks right before he went onstage almost every night, and nothing helped. It felt like the whole tour was just building up to something.

Building up to _tonight_? Tonight... what was tonight? He remembered the glimpses he’d had of the crowd. Something was wrong with crowd. Something was wrong with those girls on the front row. They seemed so _young_. He found an irrational thought running through his mind, over and over, ‘What if they never grow old? What if they can _never_ grow old?’

He shivered and fiddled with the zipper on his coat. It was like he was in Neverland or something. Except, somehow, he didn’t think that Wendy had dressed in black leather and 4 inch platforms, at least not in the Disney version. He had only seen them for a second, but he couldn’t stop visualizing their shiny Pantene hair, just calling to be mussed by the ravenous hands of a randy rock star, and their curvy, lusting lips, dripping with pink lip gloss. He lit up an American Spirit Herbal and shook his head, taking a long drag.

He just didn’t get it. Wilco didn’t usually have that many groupies, and the few that they _had_ had usually ended up being more interested in talking about music than having sex. Occasionally, they would want their boobs autographed, or something, but that was about it. Besides, John and Ken always took care of them. Jeff had other things to do. But the girls tonight were different. They were looking at him—he _knew_ it, and it wasn’t because they were interested in talking about some old Big Star songs. He flicked his cigarette across the alley, and his eyes followed it listlessly—bringing his gaze across the parking lot and up into the dark sky: right into the full moon. It looked kind of like the ‘ _Summerteeth_ ’ album cover. He took another sip of Diet Coke. He was thirty years old. He was too old for Neverland.

‘Somebody’s mother might be worried tonight,” a silky voice spoke out of the darkness. For a moment Jeff imagined that the moon was talking. He also imagined that the moon was smoking a cigarette. Then he noticed there was a shadowy figure in the alleyway. The apparition stepped into the moonlight, materializing into the unmistakable form of one of the half-dressed high schoolers from the front row. He attempted to take a casual sip of Diet Coke, but found he couldn’t move. In fact, he found himself looking right in to the girl’s icy-freezing blue eyes. She was definitely one of _them_ , one of those strange girls.

Something was very wrong tonight.

She glided forward as he began to stumble over his words, ‘Um, I have to go inside uh- now. Uh- y’know, the, the concert and all—’

It took just a moment: she was right in front of him and he was staring at her boobs, which were nearly bursting from her black and hot pink satin corset. He could barely lift his feet, but he took one heavy step back towards the stage door. The sound of his shoe on the pavement seemed to echo all the way down the alley. ‘I’ve gotta go in, but, if you want an autograph or something, that’s ok, if it just takes a second.’

She was now directly in front of him, her poppy red lips sliding into a half smile. 'We definitely want your signature on something. Something... uniquely yours.'

What the heck was she talking about? 'We?' he edged closer to the door. 'Actually, I just have time for one. I mean- um- I don't do group things. Because it's not… my thing. And I only have a second anyway. I think the band is going on without me...'

Even through his bulky winter coat, he could feel the curves of her body as she pressed herself against him.

'What I have in mind,' she said, her cool fingernails running down his jaw line, 'might take more than a few seconds...'

Jeff felt dizzy. He was shaking. He was suddenly paranoid that all his hair was going to fall out, or that all his teeth were going to get loose, or, worse, that he was going to throw up. He was paranoid that the moon was smiling at him, maybe even laughing at him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t say anything. Everything felt so strange. Maybe he was just dreaming. Or maybe he was in Neverland.

Was her that her _tongue_ slowly exploring his face? He couldn’t breathe. Then, he could taste her lip-gloss. She was kissing him now, kissing him really hard, and he was kissing her back, as hard as he could. No wonder he couldn’t breathe. Pretty soon he was kissing her all over. She was moving down now... her lips were wet and cold on his neck. She was taller than he was, but as she moved down, he could barely see the moon over the top of her pale diamond-blonde hair. The moon winked at him. And the moon was _definitely_ smoking—smoking _something_.

His hand slipped behind her neck, and the whole world became a big swirl, sort of like tie dye with a bunch of stars mixed in—and a strobe light. He might have been crying; he really wasn’t sure. What was going on? What was he _doing_? He was still visualizing the whole front row. _All_ those girls.

He felt so weak. He was vaguely aware that he was sliding down the girl’s body and collapsing onto the wet, cold pavement. His head was spinning and his sight was blurred by a crazy confetti blizzard with flashes of lightning, but he could see them _All_ of them. All those freaky girls—on him, beside him, all around him.

He must be dreaming. The tour must be taking more of a toll on him than he thought. Maybe Ken was right... maybe it was all that Nutrasweet. And maybe he really was crying. Hell, maybe he really was dying.

Oh well.

 _And Mr. Moon_... he thought, as everything went completely dark, _you can laugh all you want_...’

* * *

Buffy hesitated a second before entering the Bronze; she ran her hand over her hair and straightened her skirt. After all, if Angel was in the building, there was no sense in looking more ruffled than she probably already did. Cemeteries and vampire dust did nothing for the complexion.

Buffy pushed open the door and stepped into the club. The Bronze was hopping tonight. She looked around the room, seeing several people she knew from her classes at Sunnydale High. Cordelia and her Cordettes passed by Buffy without giving her a second glance. Cordelia was motioning with her hands, filling the Cordettes in on, no doubt, some highly important topic such as the lipstick she’d bought at Robinson Mays last week. Buffy turned away to scan the crowd once more. There was a bit of an anticipatory buzz to the atmosphere in the Bronze tonight. The band hadn’t come on yet, but several couples were already dancing around to the music being piped over the speakers.

Another sweep revealed Willow sitting at a table on the far side of the room. Buffy weaved through the crowd, and Willow looked up as she approached the table.

‘Buffy!’ Her eyes brightened. ‘I didn’t think you were going to be able to come tonight,’ her voice lowered. ‘I thought you had to patrol.’

‘I did,’ Buffy admitted, sliding into the seat next to Willow. ‘But, the place was dead.’

‘Isn’t that what it’s supposed to be?’

‘Right, but I mean really dead, as opposed to dead with a tinge of ‘un’.’

‘Oh,’ Willow said. ‘I’ve got you. No vampire activity.’

‘Right,’ Buffy nodded. ‘Totally vampire-less. Which,’ she admitted. ‘I’m kind of hoping to change: in a dark, mysterious, good vampire sort of way. Angel said he might make an appearance tonight.’

Willow’s look registered understanding.

‘Apparently he’s got a thing for this band that’s playing tonight.’

‘Angel likes rock and roll?’ Willow seemed surprised.

‘I don’t think it’s rock really. Actually,’ Buffy scrunched up her nose. ‘I don’t really know what it is. And he didn’t actually say that he was totally into them, just that he thought they’d be interesting. You know Angel; he doesn’t always show his feelings. It’s kind of hard to know what, or who, he does really like.’

Willow nodded.

'Hey, guys,’ Xander came up to the table.

‘Hey, Xander.’

‘Xander, I thought you were getting something to drink,’ Willow looked at his empty hands.

‘I was, but I kinda got sidetracked overhearing Cordelia’s conversation.’

Willow and Buffy exchanged looks.

‘You mean, you were actually listening to what she had to say?’ Buffy gave Xander her best ‘I don’t believe you’ look.

‘Yes, I mean, no.’ Xander seemed flustered. ‘Listen, it was more interesting than her typical ‘I’m so great, I’m so wonderful, everyone worship me’ gig. Apparently the band was supposed to be on fifteen minutes ago; but they can’t go on because one of the members is missing.’

‘And Cordelia knows this how?’ Buffy interjected.

‘I think she got backstage somehow,’ Xander said. ‘See that was in the part of the conversation I wasn’t listening to.’

‘Well have they checked---’

‘The last place he was seen was the alley. He stepped outside for a smoke, apparently. The band went out to call him back in and he was just gone. They’ve walked around the buildings a couple of times too.’

‘Vampire?’ Willow’s eyes were wide.

Buffy groaned. ‘And just as I was going to have a nice, normal ‘meet my boyfriend at the Bronze and dance all evening’ Saturday night.’

‘Right, cause everything is so nice and normal when your boyfriend marks undead as his race on the census count.’ Xander commented.

‘Well, you did make the fatal error of saying you wanted to see some vampires,’ Willow gave Buffy an empathetic look.

‘Yeah, but I totally qualified it,’ Buffy said. ‘Dark, mysterious, good vampire! Not the typical, killing, feeding kind.’ She sighed and stood up. ‘I’m going to look out back. You two stay right here. If I see anything suspicious, we’ll have to see if there’s a trail to follow.’ She began to walk away and then turned back around, her voice in command tone. ‘If Angel shows up, tell him I’m here and I’ll be right back.’

‘Okay,’ Willow said.

‘Angel this, Angel that. You’d think the two of them were dating or something,’ Xander watched Buffy walk away.

‘Xander, they are,’ Willow looked at him. ‘Kind of. I’m not sure exactly how much meeting each other in the cemetery counts as dating.’

‘Aw, come on Will, you know I always take the girl of my dreams to the cemetery for quality time.’

Willow raised her eyebrows at him.

‘Okay, so I occasionally hang out with Buffy at the cemetery.’

Willow’s look didn’t change.

‘Forget I said anything!’ Xander exclaimed.

Buffy exited through the side door and headed around the building, towards the back alley. The moon was full, and with the electric lights around the Bronze, the alley was actually fairly well lit.

‘Hello?’ She stepped into the alley. ‘Is anyone there?’

The door to the backstage area was cracked open a fraction, but there was no one in sight. Buffy sighed and glanced around. A bus was parked at the end of the alley, and Buffy assumed that it was probably the tour bus the band traveled in. Looking at the ground, she found nothing particularly unusual. There was a lot of the usual litter and cigarette butts, and, beside the back door, a spilled can of Diet Coke.

Nothing interesting. As she turned to go, something about the soda can caught her eye. She bent down, noticing how part of the red C looked almost liquid. She picked up the can and as she did so, red smeared all over her fingers.

Blood. Fresh blood.

‘Great,’ she murmured. ‘Just what every rock star needs: ‘ _I Ate the Band: Memoirs of a Vampire Groupie_ ’.’

She entered the Bronze through the front door and weaved back towards where her friends were sitting.

‘What’s the verdict?’ Xander asked.

‘Somebody’s got a fanged fan, and I think they want more than your typical autograph.’

‘Is he still alive?’ Willow looked concerned.

‘I didn’t see a body, which leads me to think, probably yes. Whatever they want him for—they either want him to rise again—which gives a whole new perspective on timeless music—or they just want to enjoy their meal at leisure somewhere far away from the noise and confusion of the Bronze. Obviously, I don’t know, but I think if this was a simple feeding, he’d be dead already.’

‘What if they’re taking him for some sort of ritual sacrifice, like you know, when they were going to take Jesse and me to the Master?’ Willow’s eyes widened.

‘That’s right,’ Xander said, ‘they didn’t eat you here because they wanted to give you to him. What if it is something like that? They need him for some sort of ritual?’

‘But the Master’s dead,’ Buffy pointed out.

‘Right, but Giles only has how many volumes of ‘Theme Parties for the Undead at Heart’?’ Xander rapidly tapped his fingers on the table. ‘How unlikely is it that there isn’t another ritual or two that someone in town could scheme up?’

‘But who?’ Asked Willow. ‘With the Master gone, it doesn’t really seem like there’s anyone who has that kind of… well… charisma?’

Buffy looked around the room and sighed. ‘Angel still didn’t show.’

‘Buffy, focus. Missing band member, possible ritualistic slaughter, verging on end of the world, I really don’t think we should be bemoaning the lack of undead bicentennial guy at our party.’

‘Xander!’ Willow exclaimed.

‘No, it’s okay Will,’ Buffy looked back at her friends. ‘Xander’s right. We should focus on figuring out if this band member is still alive. Maybe it isn’t a ritual, maybe it’s something as simple as…’ she stopped, a distant look coming into her eyes.

‘Buffy, what is it?’

‘Yeah,’ Xander waved his hand in front of her eyes. ‘Do you need us to wind you up again?’

‘I think I know where they’re taking him.’

‘Where?’ Xander and Willow both said at once.

‘Where is the undead suburban? Where all the little undead vampires set up their cozy homes?’

‘The cemetery, of course, but why?’

‘Why didn’t I connect it sooner?’ Buffy grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair and started towards the door, Willow and Xander following directly behind her. ‘The light I saw in the cemetery, the burning light. It seemed odd to me at the time, but now it seems downright spooky. I’ll bet there is a ritual, and I’ll bet that’s where they’re taking him.’  
‘But we don’t know what the ritual is.’ Willow said. ‘Wouldn’t it help if we knew what they were going to do with him?’

‘We don’t have time,’ Buffy stopped. ‘You two go back to the library, and see if you can find Giles. He might have an idea. But I have to go to the cemetery. If he’s still alive, I have to stop the vampires.’

‘But, Buffy, you don’t know what you’re walking into!’ Willow exclaimed.

‘Sure she does, death and destruction! Isn’t that what she’s always walking into? Personally, I think I’m on the ‘go get Giles’ side of this hero gang,’ Xander said.

‘There could be lots of vampires, more than you’re used to.’

‘Will,’ Buffy turned to her friend. ‘I’ve faced the Master. I’ve faced Spike. I know there may be lots of vampires, but you forget this is my job. It’s what I do. Go save innocents from lots of creepy fanged guys. Go get Giles. If there’s something I need to know, find me at the cemetery.’

Buffy turned and took off running in the direction of the cemetery.

‘I don’t like this,’ Willow frowned.

‘Me either, but I like it better than facing fang gang.’

‘Xander! Don’t you even care that Buffy’s going off alone to fight against who knows how many vampires?’

‘Of course I care Will, but we can’t help there, and Giles needs to know what’s going on, so if there’s something else important, we can get that information to Buffy. Hopefully, in time. Come on,’ he touched her shoulder. ‘Let’s go get Giles and figure out if we need to save the world again.’

Willow starred a moment after Buffy’s back and then nodded. ‘Fine, I just don’t like it.’

Buffy continued running down the sidewalk, hoping that she was right about the light in the cemetery. She realized, suddenly, that she didn’t even know which band member she was looking for. Something, that frankly, made very little difference in the long run, but it might be nice to not have to ask for introductions when she was done saving his life.

In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help still wondering where Angel was. He’d as good as said that he was going to be at the Bronze tonight. What had changed his mind? Or had he been there and just not wanted to see her?

She scaled the gate to the cemetery, since it was padlocked after nightfall. As if a lock kept the things that wanted out in, or the things that needed to be in, out. Inside, she stopped for a moment and looked around, seeing nothing out of place. She silently took off for the center of the cemetery, the older part, where she’d seen the light. If she was right about her hunch, that’s where they’d be taking him.

Sure enough, as she approached the center of the graveyard, she began to hear noises. She stopped, and for a moment she only heard the light sound of her own breathing. Then she heard the noises again—definitely the sound of female voices. She ran towards the voices, and after only a few moments she could also hear the sound of feet. And now she could tell that the voices were definitely arguing. A couple of them were screeching, one was whining, and one was yelling as loud as she could. Buffy sighed as she ran. Just what she needed to complete her evening, a showdown with a bunch of undead bitches.

Buffy turned the corner around a huge mausoleum and was deposited in the middle of a clearing filled with vampires. And just as she had suspected, they were all gathered around that little flame.


	3. Act 2

>   
>  _The way things go You get so low Struggle to find your skin Hey ho Look out below Your prayers will never be answered again._  
>  **-‘Can’t Stand It’**  
> 

Half a dozen vampires formed a tightly woven group in the center of the clearing. Buffy hesitated for only a split second before making her first move.

‘You know, just because they make you immortal, doesn’t mean they make you with a leather perfect rear. You should really reconsider. Maybe go with a long flowy skirt, something a bit more figure flattering?’

Six heads swiveled around--- six immortal women, all with youthful, shiney tresses and wrinkled angry faces.

‘Of course,’ Buffy tilted her head to one side, examining them. ‘Maybe, you should purchase some anti-wrinkle cream before you improve your wardrobe.’

Two of the vampires launched themselves at Buffy, one a bleached blonde in a bright pink and black corset, and the other clad entirely in black spandex, with short blue-black hair. Of all six vampires, Buffy noticed, the blonde must have had the biggest appetite: her mouth was dripping with fresh blood.

Buffy was ready for them, and lifted her leg high, scoring a kick right in the blonde’s well-toned abs, causing her to stagger back and nail the spandex-clad vamp right in the nose with her elbow. Both vampires snarled, and then screeched horribly--in some kind of dreadful, off-key harmony. Buffy pulled a wooden stake from her back pocket.

The other four vampires were moving away from the scene of the fight, back towards the middle of the cemetery. They formed a ring around what appeared to be a small figure in a ridiculous winter coat.

‘You know, I really don’t have time for this.’ Buffy’s leg caught the black haired vamp in the lower back, forcing her to the ground, and she whirled around in time to block another lunge from the athletic blonde. ‘The party looks like it’s about to start, and I’d really hate to be late. It’s considered rude you know.’

The black haired vamp sprung up from the ground, and wildly threw herself onto Buffy. Buffy staggered for a moment under the vamp's entire body weight, but she managed to whirl around and yank herself free from the skinny vampire's grasp. The vamp was sent spinning as Buffy threw her off, giving Buffy the ideal opportunity to land the stake squarely in her back.

The blonde caught Buffy’s other arm, pulling her around, as the black haired vamp exploded into a cloud of dust. Buffy grasped the blonde’s arm tightly and used the momentum of the vampire’s pull to swing her to the ground. The blonde rolled over in a summersault and landed on her feet, whirling around to face Buffy, but Buffy was already running off across the cemetery.

Buffy could hear voices getting closer as she ran, and she could only hope that there weren’t more than the four vampires she had already seen waiting to join the party. She spun around to trip the blonde, but it didn’t slow the vampire down this time. Her foot landed in the small of Buffy’s back, sending her into a forward roll of her own.

‘Okay, I really don’t like the fact that you just got grass stains on one of my favourite skirts,’ Buffy exclaimed. ‘That'll cost you!’

She rose up from her summersault and caught the blonde off guard with a kick right in her ample bosom. The vampire lost her balance, whirling backwards into a tree. Like her companion, she exploded into dust as a branch impaled her and broke off inside her chest.

Buffy continued running toward the remaining four vampires as they headed toward the lighted candle Buffy had seen earlier in the evening. If only she had listened to her instincts and just went to see Giles right away. Right now, though, she had to focus. The four vampires had reached the gravesite with the candle, encircling what appeared to be a limp pile of clothing: most likely her missing band member.

‘Hey, groupie girls,’ she said, placing one foot cockily on a gravestone, ‘What if he’s a one groupie at a time sort of rock star? You know, a one woman sort of man? I mean, I know it may sound really unusual and all, but they do exist. Or at least, I think they do.’

The four vampires glared at her and one of them snarled. ‘Slayer.’

‘Yep, that’s me. I generally just go by Buffy though. It’s nice to meet you too. Do you prefer decapitation, incineration, or the good old-fashion skewing method?’

The vampire that had spoken released her grip on the unfortunate pile of clothing, and he fell into the arms of the other three vampires. She brushed his crazy hair back from his sweaty, pale face, and tenderly touched his lips with her finger. Then she snarled again, and tossed her dark, corkscrew-curly hair over her shoulder, facing Buffy. ‘You won’t win this one Slayer,’ she said. ‘You’re just not his type.’

‘And I suppose you are?’ Buffy quipped. ‘He might prefer someone, well, how do I say this nicely? Someone without fangs?’

The curly-haired vampire howled and threw herself at Buffy. Buffy met the vampire’s face with a good old-fashioned high kick. The vampire fell backwards. ‘Get the lantern and get back to the others!’ she yelled as she staggered to her feet and knocked Buffy off balance by kicking her in the right knee

Buffy rolled into a summersault and landed in a crouch, throwing her stake into the heart of one of the three guard vampires. A tiny vampire with long blonde-brown hair exploded into a cloud of dust. Just as she combusted, she choked out a horrible hoarse laugh. The other two screeched at the sound of the awful laughter, and Buffy rushed them, kicking one in the face, and tripping the other as she grabbed the fainting musician out of their hands.

The curly-haired vampire, standing in a daze, suddenly grabbed the lantern, as the two guard vampires raced off across the cemetery, one stumbling in her platform shoes. The curly-haired vamp, realizing she was clearly overpowered, began backing away from Buffy.

‘You’ve not seen the last of us tonight, Slayer!’ she spat at Buffy before turning and darting across the graveyard, with the lantern swinging in her hand.

‘Gee, how sad. And we were just getting to be such good friends,’ Buffy exclaimed cheerfully as she watched the vampire flee. ‘Oh, well, some friendships are doomed before they even start.’

Buffy then turned her attention to the delirious musician in her arms. He sang softly to himself, his voice cracking and his words slurring together, ‘Far, far away... in those city lights... the night’ll be shinin’ on you tonight...’

‘Right, right...’ Buffy nodded as she sat him down on the ground. She pulled down the collar of his coat and took a quick look at his neck. Sure enough, he was sporting a pair of particularly gory puncture marks, complete with clotting blood, and a nasty purple bruise that could accurately be called the Hickey from Hell. The blonde bombshell had been a very messy eater.

‘Someone got a little neck happy,’ Buffy said. ‘Hey, you okay?’

‘I don’t care if you hate me...’ he mumbled, ‘You better look out... because I’m coming back... and I’m bringing my friends...’

His weak voice had a tinge of a small-town Midwestern drawl. Buffy raised her eyebrows. ‘Hey? What’s your name?’

‘I told Jay… that I don’t like anyone touching my amp… He knows that… _he knows that_! I’m not mad, but…well… I just rewired the whole thing. Jay… you gotta be careful...bump it, and where’s the sound? It’s gone…’ he swayed, looking extremely ill, and tipped over into Buffy’s lap.

She sighed. ‘Hey, your name? I know you’re probably a Wilco guy. If we’re going to get this cozy, you could at least tell me your name.’

‘Gotta protect my amp…’ He fell out of her lap and somehow started crawling over to the gravestone where the lantern had been hanging. He collapsed again and curled up against the gravestone. ‘Just sleep here. Cemetery... take me... my grave.’

‘No, you see, probably that’s a bad idea,’ Buffy explained. ‘I know it’s been a long night and you’ve lost a lot of blood, but you’re going to have to wake up. Basically, if you don’t wake up now, you might not wake up at all. Let’s see if we can get you back to Giles.’

‘But… caffeine... tired…’ he managed to sit up, leaning against the gravestone, and he looked Buffy in the eyes---his eyes focused, in a brief moment of clarity. ‘I think I just got gang banged.’ His eyes rolled back and he tipped over onto the ground again.

‘Right, by the fang gang. See, we’ve got some girls here in town who just sort of get a little carried away with that whole groupie scene. You know, sex, blood, and rock and roll. Um, come on, up we go.’

Buffy reached down and hauled him up, putting his arm around her shoulders.

‘Just need some sleep… haven’t slept in weeks...’

Buffy hoped that they wouldn’t run into any more of the bloodthirsty fans as she made her way across the cemetery, dragging the half-conscious Wilco guy with her.

‘I told Jay…’ he mumbled hoarsely, ‘no Pepsi products. I don’t care if we’ve got a whole bus full of Diet Coke. If this hotel doesn’t have a vending machine with Diet Coke… then why are we paying three hundred and fifty dollars a night to stay here? It’s a trashy joint…’

‘Yeah, that’s right, three hundred and fifty dollars would buy me three of these leather skirts, plus three coordinating shades of lipstick,’ Buffy said. ‘Just keep talking to me, and we’ll get you somewhere safe.’

Half way across the cemetery, Buffy heard the sound of voices. Turning her head in the direction of the sounds, she was sure she heard the distinct chatter of Willow and Xander. She changed her direction, and, as the distance closed between them, she could make out the three shapes of her Watcher and two best friends.

‘Buffy!’ Giles’ voice carried across the cemetery a little too well. Buffy glanced around quickly, hoping that Miss Vampire Groupie wasn’t anywhere within hearing distance.

Giles, Willow and Xander all hurried up to meet Buffy.

‘Buffy!’ Willow exclaimed. ‘You found him!’

‘Yeah. Or at least, I _think_ I found him. I never have really gotten into Wilco, so I still don’t know his name.’ she loosened her hold on the musician. ‘Here, how ‘bout you try standing up by yourself for a while?’

‘It’s all right Buffy,’ Xander said, ‘I still can’t tell all the Beatles apart. They all look the same to me. Do Beatles songs even play on the radio anymore? Anything I would know?'

'Twist and Shout?' Giles remarked wryly to a blank stare from Xander. Giles sighed. 'Sometimes I almost agree with Snyder, this generation genuinely frightens me.'

'This isn't helping me figure out which musician this is.'

'Like I said,' Xander spoke again. 'Can't tell the Beatles apart, certainly can't tell Wilco apart.'

Willow squinted at the musician, who was managing to stand shakily on his own. He was looking up at the stars. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard any of their songs on the radio before. I don’t think I’ve ever heard any of their songs _anywhere_. I think Angel said that he listens to them sometimes...’

‘Hey! He has a winter coat on,’ Xander exclaimed.

‘Right… cold…’ the musician mumbled, ‘gotta keep those breezes off Lake Michigan at bay. I need some whiskey.’ He fumbled with his coat strings and put up the hood over his head, so that only his face and a few wild spikes of black hair were showing.

‘He’s a bit delirious,’ Buffy pointed out the obvious, ‘It seems one of the vampires had a snack before they got here.’

‘As curiously interesting as this conversation is, ’ Giles broke in, peering at her studiously through his small wire-rimmed glasses. 'I’m very glad we’ve found you, ‘I’ve been looking through the Watcher Diaries tonight—some of the old texts, and I think I have found something that might be of interest—’

‘Wait. Giles,’ Buffy cut him off, and motioned toward the musician, who was now lying on the ground and crooning softly to a can of Diet Coke, which he had evidently fished from the deep recesses of his winter coat. ‘We’ve got to get him somewhere safe, like _now_. The vamps might decide they’re still hungry, and come back here any minute.’

Giles blinked as he glanced down at the musician, and nodded affirmatively. The group started off, with Xander hauling the musician to his feet. As they walked, Willow came over and touched her friend on the shoulder. ‘Are you okay, Buffy?’

‘Yeah, thanks Willow, I’m good. Three of the vamps got away though.’

Giles stepped between Willow and Buffy, ‘Buffy, will you listen to me?’ Her watcher said sternly, unbuttoning his scratchy brown tweed coat, ‘I found information in the texts regarding an ancient ritual---’

‘Hey guys, wait up!’ Xander shouted, lagging behind. Dragging the dazed musician was slow going.

‘Yeah, buddy,’ Xander grumbled, rolling his eyes, ‘that’s a pretty interesting can of Diet Coke you got there, but I prefer Mountain Dew myself. Got any Mountain Dew in that coat? I could sure use a good old-fashioned sugar rush right about now.’

Giles continued, ignoring Xander, ‘The Watcher Diaries mention it several times, and a newer text, really a very interesting one, written by one of the Watchers in the eighteenth century—’

‘Eighteenth century! That’s right off the press!’ Xander exclaimed.

‘Thank you, Xander,’ Giles glanced back at him, nodded mockingly, and continued walking. ‘At any rate, it discusses an ancient ritual. A ritual that is of interest because it is regards a prophecy of a human that kills the slayer. This ritual is known as the ritual of Leollyas.’

‘Leollyas?’ Buffy interrupted. ‘Isn’t that the guy from _Lord of the Rings?_ ’

‘Um… no, Buffy.’ Her Watcher looked a bit perturbed. ‘That’s _Legolas_ , not, Leollyas. They are totally unrelated. Now if you could just focus-’ He broke off, his eyes following the hooded figure that was wandering among the gravestones a short distance away.

Buffy’s gaze followed Giles’ and she sighed. ‘Wait a minute! Come back here. Xander, what are you doing? He’s wandering off!’

Xander shrugged. ‘He said to tell Jay the tour’s over. He’s had enough. He’s going home.’

‘Come on back here… there are more crazy vampires lurking about,’ Buffy grabbed the wandering musician’s arm and pulled him back towards the group. ‘Willow… could you?’

‘Of course,’ Willow took his arm.

‘Giles, why don’t we take this party back to the Library?’ Buffy said, ‘It looks like we’ve got a little research to do, and we need to get him out of this graveyard before our fanged friends come back for dessert.’

* * *

Tendrils of smoke swirled up into the air as a tall, leather clad form paced the concrete floor.

‘They should be here by now,’ a low voice growled.

‘Patience, darling,’ a small white hand crept over the black leather, halting the hollow, ringing sound of boots on concrete. ‘Tonight will be our night.’

‘If those bloody imbeciles can ever manage to show up with our sacrifice. How difficult can it be?’ The platinum blonde vampire swirled around, clasped the small hand, and pressed it fervently to his lips. Then he began pacing again. ‘I sent them to capture a _rock star_ , in the name of bloody Leollyas! Everyone knows that rock stars are stupid, horny blokes, who will go for any bird with breasts and black leather! I sent _six_ birds with breasts and black leather! A rock star’s ego is larger than his brains. Hell, his dick is larger than his brains!’

He sullenly shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat, ‘I’ve had it with all the bloody leather-clad sex magnets that we have taking up space in this warehouse! I give them a task that is right up their alley---seducing a rock star! What could be any easier? All they have to do is get backstage, have a little snack, and then bring him to me. What the bloody hell could be keeping them?’

Spike turned around to face Drusilla, whose lower lip was beginning quiver. ‘Spike…’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘You didn’t send me.’

‘Of course not, Pet,’ he closed the distance between them and tipped her chin up with his fingers. ‘You’re not well. That’s why I put up with bleeding scholar over here,’ he motioned to the greasy little man who was hunched over six books, and appeared to be reading them all at once. ‘Yammering on and on about ritualistic texts and all that other nonsense---it’s all so we can kill the Slayer. Then we’ll be free to concentrate on a cure for you.’

‘You don’t think I’m sexy?’ Dru’s lip stopped quivering as it moved into a pout.

‘Bloody Victoria’s Secret model, Dru,’ Spike leaned down and kissed her. ‘There’s just always this small insignificant chance that when we’re out playing, we’ll run into that Slayer girl. And she seems to mess up our fun. And I don’t want to see you skewered through before you get well enough to do the skewering yourself.’

Dru’s hand slid down Spike’s neck, and down under his silky shirt. She laughed, and her dark eyes rolled back, in anticipation of another kiss.

Suddenly, a horrible commotion made both of them turn their heads in the direction of the warehouse entrance.

Three ragged female vampires were stumbling over each other and falling off their platform shoes in their haste to get into the warehouse and get the door shut behind them.

Spike stepped away from Dru, releasing his hold on her. He vamped out and turned icy blue eyes onto the cause of the racket.

‘So,’ he took a threatening step towards the three vamps. ‘Where is my rock star? I wanted a private concert.’

The one who was wearing combat boots instead of platform shoes---a short-haired blonde named Estrella---stepped forward and glared defiantly at Spike. ‘I don’t even know if I’d call him a rock star. He’s not that famous. _I’d_ never heard of him.’ She crossed her arms over her chest and planted her steel-toed boots firmly on the concrete.

With several swift strides, Spike closed the distance between himself and the three vamps. He hit Estrella across the face, knocking her half way across the room, where she slammed into a pile of wooden crates.

‘If I wanted opinions on music, Estrella,’ he said dryly. ‘I’d go buy a bloody copy of Rolling Stone magazine.’

He turned slowly around to the other two vampires. The curly-haired vamp had her hands behind her back: she was re-tying the strings of her backless leather shirt, which had nearly fallen off in the commotion.

‘Nastya, you allowed our celebrity to get away.’

She was now busy hitching up her zebra-print pants, which had also began to slip down. ‘He was very attractive.’ Nastya murmured absently, ‘Actually I wanted to turn him...’

‘You wanted to what!?’ Spike’s voice raised a decibel or two. ‘What is wrong with you three? We’re not here to _turn_ him, bloody hell, we’ve got enough useless, good for nothing bloodsuckers mucking about! We’re here to give him a good draining so that Drusilla here,’ Spike turned around and motioned to the ivory clad beauty standing next to the wooden table. ‘Can be all back to normal---and I won’t _have_ to put up with the likes of you three!’

Estrella emerged from the pile of wooden crates and sulked off into a far corner of the room. She let out a string of expletives and punched the wall as hard as she could.

Nastya shifted nervously, and continued murmuring to herself, ‘He would make such a good vampire. There’s just something so... haunting about him. His eyes, that little smile he does, the way he sings... I can’t explain it...’ Her eyes glazed over for a moment, ‘I think I’m in love.’ Her body jerked and she slapped her hand over her mouth.

Spike grabbed Nastya by her curly hair, ‘You disgust me,’ he snarled. He shoved her head-first down onto the concrete.

Drusilla was lying across the table, her white nightgown pulled up provocatively. ‘Spike,’ she called out in a weak voice, ‘I’m bored. Can’t we go back to the opium dens, like we used to? I would wear the red dress... the one with fifty little silver clasps down the back... and you would undo each of them, one by one... and we would ride the tigers...’ her eyes closed, and her head hit the table with a small thud.

‘Oh pet, I’m sorry.’ His leather coat swirled out as he turned and crossed quickly to Drusilla. He sat down on the table, carefully laying her head in his lap. He kissed her hand, and began stroking her silky dark hair. Her eyes opened sleepily and she smiled up at him.

‘When you’re well, love,’ he said, ‘we’ll go back. You’ll put on the red dress, and we’ll travel the world all over again.

The sound of splintering wood interrupted his reverie, as Estrella, who was still cussing loudly, heaved a wooden crate across the room. Nastya had gotten up off the floor, and was now standing in a daze, her lip bleeding. Joycelin, a red head, the smallest and perkiest of the three vampires, was casually sitting on the floor with both feet behind her head, like a pretzel, humming to herself.

Spike shot the vampires a withering glare. ‘I’ll give you one more chance. Listen up. I’m going to say this quickly so you three can get out of my sight.’

Drusilla was giggling and sucking on Spike’s hand. ‘As you can see, I have more important matters to attend to. Just a few more moments, love.’ He picked up Drusilla tenderly in his arms, and laid her out across the bed, before turning to the three vampires.

‘I send out six blazing hot seductresses— _six—_ what happened to the other three? No, let me guess! Hm... they’re with the band? They’ve run off with the rock stars?’

‘No,’ Estrella shook her head in disgust, and spat out the hated word, ‘Slayer.’

‘I should have guessed. Not only have you misplaced our rock star, but now you’ve got the slayer on our tail.’ he sighed and continued in a clipped, precise tone, ‘The task I gave you was simply to do the only thing you _can_ do--- seduce men. And not just any man--- a sodding rock star--- human, female, two legs, and they think sex!’ he glared at them. ‘And sometimes you don’t even have to have all of those qualifications.’

‘Spike,’ the red headed vampire spoke up quickly, ‘Maybe if Nastya gets to keep the singer, do think that I could have the drummer? Because he’s really cute. And we’d get to have cheerful music!’ 

‘I _hate_ cheerful music,’ Spike brooded. ‘Please, just give me good old-fashioned punk rock any day. Nastya, you see the effect you’ve had on Joycelin? I’m going to have to let the Slayer stake her.’

‘But he was really cute.’ Joycelin didn’t stop. ‘Spike, don’t you think I’m cute?’

‘Shut the bloody hell up before I put a stake in you myself.’

‘Spike-y,’ Drusilla’s silky voice floated across the room. ‘Let them bring the singer back here and we’ll play with him.’

Spike walked over to the bed, and gave Drusilla a long, passionate kiss. He pulled back and touched her jaw line lightly. ‘Rock and roll, pet,’ he murmured to his paramour, and then turned around with quick precision.

‘Now, the three of you listen up, and you listen carefully. This ritual must be done tonight. If it is not completed tonight, then we have to wait another year, and by then, it will be too late. So, I expect to have a rock star in my presence before sunrise. You will find him. You will bring him to me. And you will bloody well do it _now_.’

Drusilla had risen from the bed to stand beside Spike. Spike wrapped an arm around her waist. ‘Now, Dru and I, are going up to the lighthouse with scholar man here. We plan on having a party tonight. Including our special guest of honor. You three had better get him there, one way or another. If not, you won’t have to worry about the Slayer staking you, because I have just enough room in my ash urn for the three of you. Am I making myself perfectly clear?’

* * *

Buffy pushed open the library doors, striding quickly into the room, as Giles, Xander, and Willow filed in behind her. The musician was holding on to the back of Willow’s shirt with one hand, and staring at the can of Diet Coke in his other hand.

‘Okay, he should be safe here,’ Buffy said as Willow sat the Wilco guy down in one of the chairs around the center table. ‘First of all, we should probably figure out if this festival of Legolas is going to take place,’

‘Actually, I think it’s generally known as the festival of Leollyas,’ said a new voice that was emanating from the shadowy recesses of Giles’ office.

‘Angel.’ Buffy sat down on the table, and looked at the dark haired vampire, who now stood directly in front of her.

‘And you’re lurking about Giles’ office, why? An old, dark empty _office_ —the perfect Friday night hangout.’ Xander raised his eyebrows at the vampire, who ignored him. 

‘Well, in that case,’ said Xander, ‘let’s get this party started!’ He began leafing loudly through the gilded pages of an old book. ‘Has anyone seen my pocket protector?’

‘Xander, please,’ said Giles, tapping his fingers on the table, ‘be careful with the manuscripts. That book in your hands is priceless, utterly irreplaceable.’

‘Hello, Buffy,’ Angel took a step forward. ‘I was hoping to find you guys here. I have some info---Wait a minute, is that Jeff Tweedy?’

Buffy blinked. ‘Tweedy?’

‘Tweety? Like Tweety Bird?’ said Xander loudly, with visions of Looney Tunes running through his head.

‘Jeff Tweedy,’ repeated Angel, ‘lead singer of Wilco. That is him, isn’t it?’

‘Oh. I suppose so, though so far I haven’t managed to get a name out of him,’ replied Buffy, ‘He’s still a little out of it. He had an encounter with some… groupies.’

Jeff looked off at something far beyond the shelves of old books, with a little bit of a smile at the corner of his lip, ‘I was Jeff Tweedy. But I quit. I need a cigarette.’

‘Actually,’ Giles turned to Jeff, ‘This is a school building. Hence, a no-smoking policy is strictly enforced.’

Xander looked up from his boring book and winked at Jeff. ‘Ha ha! I’ll bet you’ve been smoking more than cigarettes, right man? I don’t know what you’ve got in those coat pockets, Mr Rock Star,’ he continued tastelessly, ‘But I know that I want some!’

No one was laughing.

Xander cut his snickering short and quickly buried his head back in the dusty book. He glanced up again and coughed loudly several times. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, ‘I’m allergic to books. Especially old ones.’

With a loud clank, Jeff placed his can of Diet Coke on the table.

Xander just couldn’t resist. He looked up from his book and grinned at Jeff, ‘I smell doobies!’

‘Guys,’ Willow said, ‘Guys, we need to focus. For all we know the ritual might be taking place _right now._ ’

‘Willow’s right. Buffy, what were you saying about groupies?’ Angel asked, looking interested.

‘Groupies of the fanged variety,’ Buffy said quickly, ‘Looks like—what did you say his name was? It looks like Jeff Tweedy here and these groupies did a bit of necking.’

‘Hey Angel,’ Xander interrupted, ‘Do you actually _listen_ to Wilco? Because none of us had ever heard of them...’

Angel didn’t answer and, thankfully, Willow spoke up, taking a seat at the computer. ‘Giles, have you tried searching the ritual of Leollyas on the Internet?’

‘Do you even need to ask that, Will?’ Xander said, ‘You know Giles and his passionate hate affair with the Dreaded Box.’

‘Hate is a very strong word, Xander. Let’s just say that computers and I have our differences, and leave it at that.’ Giles pulled out his pocket watch, and clicked it open. ‘Oh dear,’ he sighed, putting it away again, ‘we’d best get down to business.’

‘Right. Will, the computer is a good idea. Why don’t you look it up?’ Buffy turned to her boyfriend. ‘Angel, you said you had information?’

‘Yes, but it seems you might already know about it. Tonight is the…’

‘Festival of Leollyas,’ Xander interrupted. ‘We know.’

‘But Giles, you never explained what it was about.’ Buffy turned to her Watcher. ‘Why is it so important that we make sure it doesn’t happen tonight?’

‘It’s a festival that kills the Slayer,’ Angel said quietly.

‘Kills… huh?’ Buffy looked at Angel.

‘I’m afraid Angel is right,’ Giles said. ‘The ritual of Leollyas is an answer to a specific prophecy in which a Slayer would be killed by a human being, This ritual was recorded on paper in the late Middle Ages, and ever since there has been a danger that a vampire will run into a copy of the full text, and decide to take a crack at performing the ritual. Thus giving him the power to kill the Slayer.’

‘Something which, apparently, has been found,’ Angel looked at Buffy.

‘Great, once again, you’re all chummy, chummy with the bad news,’ Xander looked at Angel. ‘You know—once, just _once_ , it’d be nice if you invited us to a party instead of telling us we’re all going to die.’

‘Right, and it’s that dying part that I’m really not liking right now,’ Buffy said ‘What is the ritual and how do we stop it?’

‘Well, the only identified facsimile of the full sacrament was discovered in the catacombs by a Watcher of the sixteenth century. The vampires must locate one of the descendants of the original individual who eradicated the Slayer so that they may imbibe—’

‘Giles, English!’ Buffy exclaimed.

‘Oh, sorry. Um… essentially, it was a Benedictine monk, a human, who killed the original Slayer. Now, the vampire who has decided to perform the ritual tonight needs to find a descendant of this monk so that he may drink of his blood. The uh… the vampire that drinks of his blood is then is given the power to kill the Slayer. Of course, this is only a danger… uh… if a full manuscript of the ritual has been discovered.’

‘Which it has?’ Buffy looked at Angel, and he nodded. Buffy tried to search his eyes, but they were dark and shadowy.

‘We need to figure out who this descendent is so that we can keep him away from vampires.’ Giles said, his eyes still darting down the page of the book.

For a moment, the library fell silent, except for a persistent, annoying clicking sound. Jeff’s fingers slipped off the tab on top of his Diet Coke can over and over again, as he attempted to open it. Each time his finger slipped off, a little metallic ‘click!’ was produced. His fingers just didn’t contain the strength. He tried using his fingernail instead, but his fingernail was too short, and kept slipping off the tab.

All five sets of eyes turned to Jeff Tweedy. He was staring at the Diet Coke can.

_‘Click...click...click...click...’_

‘I think,’ Xander said, his eyes not leaving the unopened can of Diet Coke. ‘That’s it’s fairly apparent who the Vampires are after tonight.’

‘Him?’ Buffy blinked at Jeff, who was now pulling on the tab with two fingers. He looked as if he was going to pass out from the strain. ‘You think he’s our descendent guy?’

‘Well, it does make sense actually,’ Giles said, ‘You did say that the vampires stole him away from the Bronze and were fairly determined to keep him.’

‘But if all they had to do was suck his blood, then why didn’t they just hurry up and suck it and leave him at the Bronze? Why were they so desperate to keep him?’ Buffy frowned, ‘It was obvious that at least one of them had already had a snack, so if sucking his blood makes them able to kill me, wouldn’t I be dead already?’

‘No,’ Willow spoke up from the computer. ‘I mean, you _would_ be dead already, but it’s not just sucking his blood. They have to do it in a specific location that is in full view of the full moon. The ritual also involves a special cup and all these fancy words, and stuff.’

‘Generally, we in the academic community refer to it as Latin,’ Giles said, taking a volume off the pile of dusty forest green books on the desk and opening it. ‘But she’s right.’ 

‘Well, that explains why they didn’t just suck him dry behind the Bronze,’ Xander said.

‘Yeah,’ Willow looked at Xander. ‘Kind of a drive-thru vampire snack.’

Angel looked at Buffy. ‘Did you kill the vampires that had him?’

‘Three of them, why?’

‘Had all of them drank his blood?’

‘I doubt it. He’s hardly drained dry, and the only one that had blood on her face was the blonde—and I staked her first thing. She had really tacky taste in corsets. What is it?’

‘Well, there’s sometimes a loophole, but if you killed them all, it shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘A loophole?’ Buffy blinked at Angel. ‘There’s a loophole!?’

‘Oh, dear,’ Giles said suddenly, looking up from the leather bound volume.

‘Oh dear? I don’t like ‘Oh dear’.’ said Buffy.

‘Well, it’s just that, even if we keep him safe tonight, um… he’s still in danger. Not necessarily tomorrow, or the night after, but you see, every full moon before All Saint’s Day.’

‘Great,’ Xander said. ‘So what, we get to be Wilco’s new bodyguards?’

‘No, you see,’ continued Giles, his finger running along the lines of text, ‘there is a ritual we can perform that will render his blood useless. It would permanently put both him and Buffy out of danger. However, it requires that we perform the ritual tonight—at a specific location where the moon shines full.’

‘The moon shines full?’ Xander asked. ‘Uh, it’s a full moon tonight, so isn’t that anywhere outside?’

‘No, no, the location must be in a clearing at a high elevation... it has something to do with the moon’s tidal pull,’ Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose and crinkled his brow. ‘Where could…’

‘I should probably try to find those other three vampires,’ Buffy said, studying Angel’s grim face, ‘So I can make sure to stake them. I don’t want there to be any possibility of loopholes.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Angel said, catching her eyes. ‘You should stay with Jeff, to make sure that he’s safe while Giles performs this…’ Angel frowned, ‘deritualization… ritual.’

‘The full moon,’ Willow leaned forward, her chin in her hands, ‘Where would be the best view of the full moon?’

The library fell silent again, except for the steady clicking noise. The tab on the Diet Coke can had bent up higher, but it had yet to puncture the top of the can. Jeff’s fingers felt weaker each time he grasped the tab. He looked intently at each person in the room. He was damp with sweat. ‘Help?’ he rasped.

Xander stood up, knocking his chair over backwards, ‘The lighthouse!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Giles took his glasses off and stared at Xander. ‘The lighthouse?’

‘Yes, people go up there to have mad tantric… uh… well you know…’ Xander looked away from Giles. ‘You’ve got a great view up there—I think it’s the highest point in town—and there aren’t any trees. Basically, you’d have a complete view of the moon.’

‘That’s as good a bet as any,’ said Buffy, shrugging into her leather coat. ‘All right then, here’s what we’ll do: Angel will take Xander and go after the remaining three vampire chicks while Giles, Willow, and I will take Jeff Tweedy up to the lighthouse so that we can perform this ritual.’

‘If you say so,’ Xander stood up, rolling his eyes at Angel, ‘Let’s get moving.’

‘Wait—’ Willow pointed out, ‘Angel wasn’t at the concert, so he hasn’t seen the vampires that were with the band.’ she glanced at Angel, ‘How will he know which ones to—’

‘Oh,’ Buffy turned around. ‘That’s right, I forgot! You weren’t with me when I…’

‘I was.’ Angel looked down, avoiding her eyes. ‘I was sort of... at the Bronze before. It would have been pretty hard to miss them. They were on the front row, practically drooling all over the stage...’ he looked up at Buffy.

Buffy stared. ‘You were at the Bronze? You didn’t even say Hi?’

‘Buffy, focus,’ Xander waved his hand in front of her. ‘Once again, need I say, saving the world, or in this case your _life_ , is probably more important than the appearance or disappearance of Dead Boy here.’

‘Please don’t call me that,’ Angel glared at Xander and then looked at the big black buttons on Buffy’s leather coat.

‘Right,’ Buffy said, ‘well, if you think you can recognize the vampires in question, then we’re all good to go.’

Angel tried to look Buffy in the eyes, but she looked past him, and turned towards the door. ‘Giles, do you have everything you need?’

‘Uh… well, yes…’ He glanced at Angel and then at Buffy, trying to figure out what on earth had just happened.

Buffy pushed through the doors, ‘OK, let’s hurry. We’ll do what we can to get rid of Jeff Tweedy’s bad blood, and take care of any possible future attacks by the Vampire’s Together Outrageously.’

‘Right then,’ Xander said. ‘Off we go to save the world again.’


End file.
